


New Growth (heals old hurts)

by AngeNoir



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Human Trafficking, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Consensual Drug Use, rivals to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: Ste-Virn isn't exactly sure why the Jedi Council has summoned him back to Coruscant, when he was finally making progress on identifying the head of the trafficking ring he's spent months tracking down.Finding out that he's supposed to work with another Jedi isn't great - he knows he's new, knows he could use the help, he just wanted to take these beings down himself - but finding out that it's prodigy Anotoni Saark? The same Anotoni Saark who had to share an interim Jedi master while they were both grieving in their own ways?This was going to be harder than he thought.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[ART] - New Growth (heals old hurts)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308974) by [Padraigen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padraigen/pseuds/Padraigen). 



> My poor poor artist has been super patient with me. I'm still fiddling with the ending (it doesn't feel right) but I hope to have the second chapter up shortly!

Ste-Virn paused outside the Council chambers. He wasn’t—he wasn’t precisely _nervous_ , but it was disconcerting to be called to the chambers. Especially now, when he was so close to wrapping up one of the most involved cases he’d ever worked on in his short time as a Jedi Master.

The smuggling ring he’d been assigned to investigate over three months ago had been a kriffing mess to figure out. It hadn’t helped that his original goal had not been to break up the smuggling ring, merely identify how the ring was getting its hands on certain rare crystals the Jedi Council officially only sold to certain merchants. It had morphed and evolved and now, Ste-Virn just needed to physically travel to the Rim planet the ring used as its headquarters. Not only would Ste-Virn put a stop to the circulation of those dangerous crystals, but would rid the world of a group of mercenaries who had no trouble dealing spice, slaves, and seismic disruptors to anyone with enough coin (and, in the case of the spice, to people _without_ enough coin, in order to make addicts they could then turn around and sell as slaves).

Needless to say, Ste-Virn didn’t know why the Council had summoned him beyond a report on his findings—something he’d been doing regularly anyway—and while… he wasn’t _nervous_ , he felt he couldn’t be begrudged the chance to calm his thoughts so that when he did enter the chambers, he was tranquil and accepting.

He always strove to emulate his first and second Jedi Masters. The both of them had never so much as blinked, regardless of what the universe threw at them.

A soft exhale, and then he opened his blue eyes, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the doors to stride confidently and calmly into the circular room.

Sitting present in the Council today was Master Yoda, Master Windu, Master Sifo-Dyas, Master Eeth Koth, and Master Yaddle. The other members were not present, but having five of the twelve present was terrifying enough.

Brown robes wrapped around his muscular, humanoid body, Steve folded his arms respectfully and inclined his head. “Master Windu. You summoned me?”

Master Windu seemed to regard him, his face revealing nothing— _none_ of the Jedi Masters were revealing anything—and after a few heartbeats, he returned Ste-Virn’s nod. “You have been putting a lot of hours into this case. You’ve been prompt in your paperwork, and we’re very impressed on how thorough you’ve been. You’re on the verge of uncovering the network of slavers as well as their connection to the shipping company and mining company these slives have been selling to. However, after much consideration, we’ve decided to assign another Jedi to your case.”

Ste-Virn almost flinched—almost, he knew he caught himself before he actually did it, but it didn’t seem to matter as Master Yoda stirred in his chair.

“A rebuke to your skills, this is not,” Yoda said gravely. “Another Jedi’s case, your case touches. Equal work, both of you have done. Aid the other, you both can.”

“Your paperwork and reports have all stated that you suspect that there are high-class, prominent names supporting and backing this group,” Master Eeth Koth continued. “We believe that this Jedi has come at your case from that side. He has been working a case looking into ransoms that have been plaguing the upper society for almost a year now. Quite a few of your upper level dealers have cropped up in his reports, enough so that we can no longer ignore the connection.”

Ste-Virn could… see the merit in what the Council was saying. Two Jedi working on the case would be better than one, and even if he felt a little proprietary since he had done so much work on this case, the other Jedi had obviously been working the same case from an opposing angle.

Still… _still._ This was his first big, major case, and he had been looking forward to completing it. It was the first real test of his ability to investigate and help others.

As he tried to convince himself this was a good thing, he caught Master Windu staring at him, expression almost… smug? Knowing, for sure.

Ste-Virn suddenly got a bad feeling about all of this.

“Late, he is,” Master Yoda murmured—or, rather, said quietly. He had to know that Ste-Virn would have been able to hear him, so he wasn’t trying, really, to keep Ste-Virn from knowing that his new partner was late. It made Ste-Virn… suspicious.

Then the doors opened, and in came a short, bird-like humanoid male. Large brown eyes blinked like reptiles’ eyes, side to side over the slit-pupils, and the standard dark brown Jedi robes swished around the slight frame. The humanoid was about a head shorter than Ste-Virn, skin a dusty brown gleam under the warm lights. The brown hair was shaggy and almost feathered around pointed ears and a slender neck. Slender, strong, four-fingered hands rested against the belt, and a small white scar marred one arched eyebrow.

Kriffing Anotoni _Saark_.

Anotoni was… a prodigy. One of the youngest to come to the Jedi Temple for training, excelling in all his studies. As small younglings, Ste-Virn had not exactly… _meshed_ well with Saark. Saark had had a rich parent, had care packages from home, had a bunch of friends. Very sociable and bright, picking up languages like many of his species. Saark was an Ailish, a cousin species to the Fosh, without the overly avian features like true feathers, didactyl feet, and a beaked face. They were highly political and secretive, and Saark’s nest group controlled a huge intergalactic company that created, shipped, and designed weaponry, ships, and technology for almost every major nation. Their goods were so well-known they were practically household conversation, and Saark himself was equally in the spotlight all the time even though he was a Jedi. The Jedi masters had nearly despaired of Saark’s pleasure-seeking ways and three times had almost expelled him from the program.

In fact, the only reason they hadn’t done so was because of Jedi Knight Filliph Kulsi—who was, for almost a year of Ste-Virn’s life, Ste-Virn’s own Jedi Knight Master.

Jedi Knight Filliph Kulsi was a nondescript humanoid that easily blended in with his environment. He was, in some ways, the spy master of the Jedi Order—and he had been the only nearby Jedi Knight who could take on a Padawan when Ste-Virn’s Jedi Knight Master died.

Jedi Kulsi was a very aloof and calm person, markedly different than Ste-Virn’s previous Master, Ab’Ram Skine. When Skine had died (uncovering a Sith plot, one that had killed almost all the Jedi involved, severely maimed Ste-Virn’s best friend, and had left Ste-Virn very much alone in the world)—when Skine had died, it had nearly killed Ste-Virn. Skine had been warm, fond, and playful; he’d been the perfect complement to Ste-Virn’s personality, and the drastic difference between Jedi Skine and Jedi Kulsi had made it almost impossible to connect with his new master. Jedi Kulsi also had never had a Padawan before, and had not ever intended to have a Padawan, which had not helped.

And _then_ …

Then Saark had walked into the picture, and that ‘almost impossible’ had turned into ‘impossible’ in truth.

Saark had lost his own Jedi Knight Master in his own traumatic way, and was much younger than Ste-Virn. He was also as aloof and stand-offish as Jedi Kulsi was as well, and they had somehow worked very well together, using a language of sarcastic quips, verbal fencing, and deflection. Somehow, with Jedi Kulsi, Anotoni’s outbursts and anger and sheer inability to control his emotions had tempered, and when Jedi Kulsi relinquished his position as Anotoni’s master—as he had only ever been a temporary mentor until a proper one could be found—Anotoni had clearly grown fond of Jedi Kulsi, and Jedi Kulsi of Anotoni.

Ste-Virn had never been in that picture, even though he had shared the same quarters and supposedly shared Jedi Kulsi as a mentor.

As an adult, Ste-Virn could understand that he and Saark had both been hurting, had both needed a Jedi Master, and that Jedi Kulsi had been a temporary replacement for their masters. Even though they had both gone on to other masters—in fact, Ste-Virn had been taking in by Jedi Master S’m W’Lsinn, a member of the Jedi Council—at the time, as a child hurting from the death of a friend, and his master, and the loss of limb his other friend had suffered, and the feelings of betrayal, he had not been willing to share Jedi Kulsi with the star of the Jedi Temple. When Saark had actually excelled at connecting with Jedi Kulsi? When Jedi Kulsi had clearly interacted well with Saark?

Well. He’d said some very unkind, un-Jedi-like things to Saark, had gotten flayed open in turn by Saark’s harsh tongue, and then they had done their absolute best to never be around one another since. Everyone else who knew Anotoni Saark had gone to clubs with him, had had a party in his dorm room, had gone on some field work where Saark had had some misadventure happen—except Ste-Virn.

Ste-Virn did his best not to narrow his eyes at Saark’s strutting form.

“So sorry I’m late,” Saark said breezily, voice lightly accented with his trilling native dialect. “I got sidetracked, and I did not mean to. There is no excuse for not being on time.”

“Acknowledge it, do you?” Jedi Master Yoda grumbled.

Saark bowed low, brow cocked to make mockery of his obeisance. “I’d be a poor Jedi indeed if I didn’t acknowledge my shortcomings and strive to become better,” he said piously.

Ste-Virn found his teeth were clenched tight, and tried to force his anger to leave. A good Jedi did not hold onto the negativity—or the past. They strove to move forward, taking only the lessons with them into the future.

Saark just made that _extra hard_ sometimes.

Master Windu narrowed his eyes at Saark, and at least some level of remorse and genuine respect entered Saark’s eyes. The relationship between the two of them was something akin to Jedi Master and Padawan, though Master Windu had never taken a Padawan in Ste-Virn’s recollection. “See to it that you cease to waste the Council’s time. Ste-Virn, you were going to present your findings?”

Snapped out of his own (quiet) meditation to try and ignore the whirlwind of disruption that was Saark, Ste-Virn nodded and pulled out his holoprojector and threw up the faces of his suspects. “Yes, of course, Master Windu. I’ve been working with my contacts on trying to identify a new trafficking ring that is operating primarily in the Gaulus sector of the Outer Rim territories. Trafficking and slavery has always been a concern in spice mines and their usage, but these specific mines are underneath a company called ‘Indenaturing Mining’ and all workers for this company are labeled as ‘contract-workers only.’ This has caused the company to have been accepted in many non-slave-holding planetary systems to set up mines, because of their supposed usage of workers who voluntarily accepted high pay for the risk of working in spice mines. Yet multiple missing persons cases can be traced back to this company and these always seem to be ‘simple clerical errors’ and the company itself claims no knowledge of it. I’ve been tracking these three beings in particular, because it seems like all my missing persons’ cases can be traced back to one of these three. They are listed as ‘consultants’ and receive erratic paychecks from the company, but so far their presence has been waived as mercenaries protecting shipments. I’ve been trying to find one of these shipments, ascertain what the shipments are exactly—as I suspect they’re shipping beings into slavery—and record proof that high enough officials in this company have in fact been aware of exactly what services and shipments these beings have been providing the company.”

The Jedi Masters nodded, and then Master Yoda turned to Saark, who had stood still while Ste-Virn had presented. “And you? Your findings, you have?”

“Of course,” Saark replied, smiling, and he turned that smile on to Ste-Virn.

Ste-Virn tried not to be suspicious of it, he really, really did.

Saark stepped forward, reaching into his own robes to pull out his holoprojector. Multiple faces—all young, all youths at or below Ste-Virn’s and Saark’s own ages—flashed across, looping through at least twenty different faces.

“In the Gaulus sector of the Outer Rim territories, many high-ranking officials have seen their children disappearing, and ransom notes being delivered to the family homes. When the ransom is paid promptly, the child is returned within a standard week—when the ransom is delayed, when negotiation happens, when the slightest disruption to prompt, quick payment takes place, the child is never seen again. The officials that have gone to authorities have often then received digits and pieces of their children, or artifacts unique specifically to their child, and so it has become almost common knowledge that if your child is taken you pay the ransom and continue about with your life. However, a desperate family contacted me because they knew my nest group and hoped that I would ensure their child’s safe return, because the family was in financial difficulty and did not have the money to pay the ransom in full. My research and investigation has shown that all these children have been in contact with certain unsavory types—two of which were seen in Jedi Ste-Virn’s presentation. These ransoms do not seem to have a pattern I can discern—there is no one familial group or clan that appears to be safe from the threat of kidnapping.”

Ste-Virn had to admit, if his suspects were managing to pull of kidnappings and get ransoms regularly, they had to have a lot more financial stability than he had assumed, and certainly had more backing and resources and protection than he had believed them to have.

“Your cases intersect, and so you will be working together to solve these cases,” Master Windu said. “You have an increased budget to research and travel—the details will be forwarded to your personal datapads. We wish you the best in this assignment. Update us as new information comes in.”

Saark bowed formally, Ste-Virn a beat behind him, and then the two of them exited the Council Chambers.

* * *

“So you’ve been tracking it from the smuggler’s end, correct?”

Ste-Virn did his best to calm his emotions. He was a Jedi Knight—young, perhaps, and only just, but still. Jedi Knight. He didn’t lash out in anger; he processed it and boiled it down to the worry and fear that would be the root of his anger.

“Ste-Virn, the smuggler’s end, yeah?” Saark’s voice was slightly breathless—shorter than Ste-Virn, he almost had to hop to keep up with Ste-Virn’s long strides.

Ste-Virn could slow down.

He could.

“Yes, the smuggler’s end. We’ve tracked a lot of so-called shipments between Outer Rim planets, a lot of little hideaways where kidnapped beings were transported for… many different tasks, most very horrible, but the majority of them were going to spice mines, or to feed into the misery that lives around the spice mines.”

“Makes you grateful that we were raised here, yeah?” Saark said, really striving to match Ste-Virn’s pace.

Ste-Virn walked past the practice courts, their training master of old’s voice ringing out, and shame hit him. He was being petty, and angry, and it would not be helpful to the poor people they were trying to save. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the younglings that walked past, chattering, streaming out from the practice courts.

He was better than this, and being upset about the past was not conducive to living in the present.

Saark came to a stop, absently ruffling the hair on the top of one youngling’s head as they waved and walked past. “Ste-Virn? Is everything alright? Did something happen?” he asked, looking thankful for the break in the quick pace.

“I apologize,” Ste-Virn said, keeping his voice modulated and calm. “I was distracted. Let’s head to my quarters, and discuss the case further?”

“Of course!” Saark said, voice chipper.

He never let anything bother him, and Ste-Virn supposed he should be grateful that Saark hadn’t picked up on his rudeness – or, at least, was willing to work past that and focus on the case.

The Jedi temple was not particularly busy at the moment—the younglings had streamed past them because of the change of the classes, which meant as they continued their journey they only saw other masters or the messenger droids in the hallway. Ste-Virn did not particularly mind—Saark would wave, or inquire politely, even to some of the droids, but Ste-Virn always had his small circle of friends and not much wider.

He could remember, vividly, after his master had died and he was first being introduced to Jedi Kulsi, and how he’d strove to appear mature and capable. He wanted a master, a mentor. He wanted to be a Jedi more than anything else, and with his old master’s death… he was grieving, but he also did not want to let others share in his pain. His master had believed in him when no one else had. Ste-Virn had nearly not been picked to be a Padawan, had nearly lost his chance to be a Jedi, until Ab’Ram Skine had looked at the skinny, twig-like twelve year old child—someone identified as Jedi late in his life, almost four years old, and someone who had struggled to maintain his connection to the Force at the same level as his peers—and seen something worthwhile.

It had been hard for Ste-Virn to accept others easily, due to the difficult nature of his training, late picking, and late placement. He knew that, objectively. But seeing it in front of him—Saark, who had come to the temple exceedingly young and rocketed through classes so brimming with natural, raw talent that he was easily paired against older Padawans before he had even been chosen as a Padawan… it made it harder for Ste-Virn to let go of old resentments and hurts from the past.

Everyone knew Anotoni Saark. Everyone had a story. Everyone, that is, except the person who had actively shared quarters with Saark for nine months.

Ste-Virn pushed on, determined to get a plan in place and get the mission completed as quickly as possible. He’d been doing fine forgetting that Saark existed, and keeping his distance and the peace, and the sooner they could return to that, the better.

Saark trotted at his side, chattering both at Ste-Virn and at others in the hallway, but when they came to Ste-Virn’s chambers he grew quiet and pensive. “You know, if I am talking too much, or bothering you, you can let me know,” he offered as Ste-Virn keyed in his personal code and entered the apartment.

Ste-Virn glanced at Saark blandly. “That never seemed like a good idea before.”

Saark shrugged, a fluid motion that drew attention to his shoulders and arms—one that Ste-Virn viciously quashed. His feelings on this matter were pushed down and repressed, and he would strive to keep them there. “I was a child—headstrong, foolish, and angry. It was unacceptable, the way I treated you and the way I treated Knight Kulsi. He helped me, but I know that I said many words in anger, and never apologized for them.”

It was… a good apology, and a sincere one. Ste-Virn was good at picking up falsehoods through the Force, and Saark was sincere.

“Well, I know that I was not as patient as an older student should have been with a younger one,” Ste-Virn conceded.

Saark lifted an eyebrow at him, but then shook his head and seemed to put aside what he was about to say. Instead, he nodded at the door. “Am I invited in?” he asked.

“Of course. I would like to hear more about which two of my suspects you recognized, and the nature of the kidnappings and ransom requests,” Ste-Virn said easily, entering the quarters and moving towards the kitchen. “Water?”

“Would you have caf by any chance?” Saark asked hopefully.

Ste-Virn shook his head. “I don’t usually drink it, sorry. I don’t stock it regularly.”

Saark let out a small sigh. “Water would be welcome.”

As Ste-Virn turned to get the glassware out, Saark began outlining his investigation—the family that came to him first, the information he’d found regarding the victim, the symptoms of drug usage on the victim that had both made it impossible to use the child’s word in a court of law and left the family devastated with trying to break an addiction.

“It seems to be their preferred method,” Saark said bitterly. “Lace food or drink with spice, and regularly keep the child docile and addicted. You won’t have a runaway if the runaway is an addict that wouldn’t risk missing a dose.”

Ste-Virn took careful notes, identifying what was different or similar to his own cases, what methods crossed. He asked intensive questions about the ports, the types of ships, where and what security each child had.

“By now, anyone in that whole quadrant who has any level of money is trying to hire mercenaries to protect their children.” Saark’s eyes were bleak as he looked over the datasheets and datapads that were strewn across the counter as Ste-Virn took notes and shared information with Saark. “No more in-person schools for many of them; the spike in VR-schooling permits is staggering. It’s affecting the overall economy and though the kidnappers have spaced their taking apart erratically enough that there’s no pattern, families are living in constant fear.”

He trailed off, then shook his head.

“In any case, your master and mine must have compared notes from our reports, because I got contacted a few days ago to return from the field and to meet with the Council. I thought it was because I had stalled out, so I’m glad that you have a fresh perspective on this, a new angle of attack.” Saark tapped on the nearest datasheet—a profile of one of the suspects, taken from the local authorities. “For sure, you at least have more information about these—all I had were security footage and vague descriptions from friends and family members. No name, no ID, just the hint or suspicion of a problem manifesting.”

It was a lot of information—thorough, very good, very detailed information that would help Ste-Virn immensely in tracking down at least two of the people he’d been chasing.

“Well, I was recalled as well to speak with you, but I had set up a transport for myself to be taken into Ryloth through back channels. The transport is one I suspect that helps ferry kidnapped and enslaved beings into Ryloth’s mines, or being shuffled into more legitimate-looking transports. As you heard, my investigation suggests that the workers in the mines are not free and able to leave when they like; they are slaves, and they have no where else to go. Two or three planetary systems have voiced their concerns with this…” Ste-Virn trailed off as he flipped through his information to bring up the names. “Ah, here—Kalinda, Lorahns, and Zhar. These small systems all have anti-slavery laws, and are concerned by some of the reports come from the mines.”

Saark bit his lip, and Ste-Virn turned his eyes quickly away from Saark to stare instead at the datapad Saark was scrutinizing.

“The systems are pretty far away, if the kidnappers are running people to those planets and then hopping back to that quadrant. But… perhaps.”

After a few moments of silence, Ste-Virn stood up and stretched, letting his back crack and his shoulders pop. “Meet me tomorrow at the spaceport, and we’ll hitch a ride over to Rodia and begin investigating together.”

* * *

“They’re not very accepting, or open. I’ve spent a long time with them, so let me do the talking first.”

Saark put his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture, smiling. “Of course, Ste-Virn.”

It seemed patronizing, and Ste-Virn wanted to call Saark out on it, wanted to demand that Saark _listen_ to him. He had spent the entire trip to Rodia stressing that his contacts did not like new people, did not listen to many people at all, and the entire time, Saark had countered by saying that people loved him, that he was especially keen on picking up nonverbal language and emotions, which was _true_ , but didn’t change the fact that Ste-Virn had built his trust and worked his cover in with these people over a long period of time, and he didn’t want to chance it when there was a surefire in with the two pilots who were wary and suspicious of outsiders.

Here on Rodia, the people were starving and beleaguered by pirates and smugglers stealing the shipments of food and supplies that were en route to the planet. Rodia did not have a large army, and was a product of multiple colonization attempts, so the infrastructure in place to mine the rich minerals, water, and wildlife were almost exclusively in the hands of off-planet companies. It meant little money poured back into the economy, so little ability to gain recognition in the Senate to its problems and plights.

That poverty and rejection was showcased here, in the pilot and first mate that were scrawny, hard characters.

“Orcantuur, Slysstar!”

The two turned to look at him, big eyes focused unblinkingly on him. “Veer,” the shorter one said, voice a rough croak. “You’ve got a friend, now.”

Ste-Virn smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m not allowed out by myself anymore.”

Saark slanted a sharp gaze at him, but smiled wide and sketched a bow. “Toron, at your service.”

The taller one grunted and boarded the ship. The smaller one tapped his digits against his leg before shaking his head slowly. “We did not prepare for two. I’m afraid I can’t accommodate another guest. The pay is not worth it.”

“But of course, we’d be paying you double, because we are two beings now instead of one,” Ste-Virn said easily and quickly. “And Toron is Ailish—they don’t need large quarters to nest down in for a sleep-cycle.”

Saark’s eyes promised words later, but he bobbed his head, clearly playing up his Ailish morphology. “A small access hatch or even a storage room would be good enough. I could even share Ste-Virn’s quarters, of course. I am aware that my appearance is unexpected and willing to deal with what you have available.”

Those big eyes moved between them, and from the slight tinge of color against the green skin Ste-Virn could tell the money was the deciding factor when Orcantuur grunted and said, “Double, then. And we have a small storage room you can use.”

He walked up the gangplank and Saark turned to Ste-Virn. “They look desperate. And I hope you’re not draining our accounts just to add me on—negotiating is—”

“Negotiating is how I have these two making the trip to Ryloth. The price is more than fair,” Ste-Virn whispered heatedly as he moved to follow the Rodian into the ship.

At the top, Slysstar stood, his hulking frame somewhat diminished by clear hunger and poverty. “I’ll show you to your quarters,” he said in a deep baritone. “You are not to go poking around the ship.”

“Of course,” Saark said easily, casually striding up into the ship. “Where to first?”

The Rodian first mate took them to their quarters—nearby each other, but not exceedingly close—and showed them where they could eat and the refresher unit.

Once alone, Saark moved closer to Ste-Virn. “I get the feeling that something’s not right here. There was no bargaining, no discussing a second person—there’s a bad feeling in the Force, here.”

Ste-Virn concentrated, trying to pick up the feeling that Saark had picked up on, but when he couldn’t identify anything he sighed. “Do you have a better idea?” he asked quietly. “All of what we said and planned—have you changed your mind about that?”

Saark let out a little whistling hiss, and automatically, Ste-Virn felt his shoulders squaring—he remembered that noise, and the sharp, cutting anger that it preceded.

But all Saark did was mutter and walk down the hallway towards the small room their pilots had provided.

* * *

Ste-Virn strode down the narrow hallway, ignoring the fact that Saark was speed-walking to keep up with him.

“I know you said—”

Good Jedi didn’t get angry. They certainly didn’t whip around to tower over their partner, eyes flashing as they hissed, “You know, but you thought you knew better, and you didn’t value my input at all! I’ve been working this case for a long time, but you think you can walk in and solve it without listening to the intel I’ve build up over time? How is that in any way a smart way to run this investigation? Did the Council somehow indicate that I had nothing and needed your help? Did Master Windu decide to intervene so that you could do something other than escort politicians around?”

Saark squared his shoulders, brown eyes fierce as he hotly replied, “For your information, I asked to join with _you_ because I had run into road-blocks on my end! I wanted to pair with _you_! But any time I suggest anything or bring up what _I_ learned, you dismiss it without giving it a fair chance! If I don’t take initiative—”

“Did it work? Did your initiative work back there? Is everything fixed now?” Ste-Virn demanded—voice still low, so their pilots would not hear the two Jedi squabbling like Padawans.

Like _younglings_.

Ste-Virn wouldn’t even be so upset if Saark ever acknowledged that he knew what he was doing when he said those words, or behaved in that way. But Saark always acted oblivious, as if shocked that Ste-Virn would take offense at his behavior and words. And Ste-Virn was tired of always trying to be the mature one and walk away from what Saark had said or done this day.

He turned to stalk towards his quarters, and Saark stayed on his heels. “If we don’t talk this out—”

“Talking things out didn’t work all those years ago, why would it fix things now?” Ste-Virn snapped. “Talking never seems to matter, to you.”

“Talking _always_ matters!” Saark insisted, going up to the doors of Ste-Virn’s quarters—where Ste-Virn stopped, back to Saark, blocking Saark from entering his quarters as he tried to move past what Saark had just said.

His master, S’m W’Lsinn, had told him that the biggest stumbling block was his stubbornness. That he had difficulty changing and being flexible, in the way a Jedi needed to be.

And Ste-Virn could remember arguing that if one was too flexible, too changed by the wind and the changing opinions, then there was no moral absolute. Then there was no set foundation.

_“Foundation is important, Padawan,” Master S’m chuckled, bumping his shoulder against Ste-Virn’s as they sat in a diner, waiting for a contact to meet with them. “But there’s foundation, and then there’s the strong dirl tree that breaks in the storm while the gentler b’lynn bows with the wind and springs back up.”_

_“Balance,” Ste-Virn said dryly, mouthing at his straw, “Isn’t that the Jedi way anyway?”_

_Master S’m’s long legs kicked out, knocking against Ste-Virn’s shin. “That’s what they tell me, anyway.”_

“Look… can I at least explain?”

Steve breathed in deeply, reached for the Force and tried to breathe out his frustration and anger. Processing emotions had always been hard, more so after his first Master’s death, the trauma that happened to his best friends, and then the fractious almost-year with Saark and their shared, temporary Jedi Knight Filliph Kulsi. Master S’m had been better at teaching him how to handle it, but Ste-Virn… knew this was his weakness.

And Saark had always managed to get under his skin so easily.

It felt like forever, but probably only a few seconds before he turned to face Saark. Saark was still dirtied a bit, a smudge of grease on his cheekbone.

“What would you need to explain?” Ste-Virn asked.

“I know you said not to interact with them—that they are suspected of working with the smugglers, that they were not as unaware of the cargo being transported as they seem, that too many questions or lines of thought would make them suspicious. That they didn’t trust outsiders and that your cover already would be on shaky ground for bringing me along. But people talk easier when they feel like you talk with them. I talk to a lot of people—you know that. You know that my skills lie in interpersonal subterfuge. You know that’s why I’ve always been on those escort missions, and you know—”

“I don’t know,” Ste-Virn said flatly. “You never talk to _me_. You don’t interact with me. Force knows you talk to everyone and anyone else, but not me. You can’t pretend like I know your methods and know what you’re best at.”

Saark started to open his mouth, and then closed it. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing against his cheek, and Ste-Virn did his best not to notice as those eyes slowly opened. “Of course, Master R’Garr. We’ve been apart from one another for a long time. I believe your new master took you only a few months before I was taken as well. We both grew up, and haven’t been in one another’s orbit for years. Seven, at least, I feel.”

The way that Saark was speaking was pricking Ste-Virn’s instincts. Something about it was… off.

“I have to admit, I have researched you, and your cases. You became a Jedi Master only about seven months ago, or so, and most of your cases have not been as involved as this. Nevertheless, those cases show your level of dedication and skill, and investment. I knew that if we worked together, we could solve this issue quickly. However, I did not explain myself well, and for that I apologize.”

Saark was curiously blank-looking, and once he was done speaking, he bowed and left. It left Ste-Virn feeling… unsettled.

He wasn’t in the wrong, and he knew it. Saark ignored all his cues and clear desires. Perhaps he had misread Saark’s intentions, but that didn’t change the fact that boundaries were important and Saark never respected his. He overshared and treated Ste-Virn as if they were long-lost friends…

They _had_ shared a master together, for about nine months’ worth of time. Sure, they hadn’t been very _good_ months, but they had lived in the same quarters, shared the same routines, learned under the same no-nonsense master who was the only master at the time who knew how to deal with traumatized Padawans and was free to take on two radically different children who had two different perspectives on their respective trauma. They might not have been friends, but they had been (reluctant) companions.

Saark must have viewed that differently. He must have seen Ste-Virn in a different light than Ste-Virn had seen him.

Abruptly, he turned and fully entered his quarters. His commlink was secured—and besides, he was calling a member of the ExplorCorps, which would hardly be out of character for their cover—and so he keyed in a very familiar code.

It took a few moments before the commlink burst with static, and his best friend’s voice crackled over the transmission. “Steev?”

The tension drained from Ste-Virn’s body, and he sat down on his bunk, relaxing for the first time in what seemed like weeks even though he’d only been four days on this mission with Saark. “Hey, Byu-Kyonn. B-Ky. What’re you up to?”

There was a burst of laughter, and then Byu-Kyonn’s voice crackled as he replied, “You wouldn’ta called me inna middle of th’ kirffin’ night ta gnaw the fat. What’s th’ problem?”

Ste-Virn let out a long sigh. On an unsecured line like this, where the pilots could notice his transmission and most likely listen in with some mid-level tech, he couldn’t tell the real problem—that it felt like Saark wasn’t respecting his years of experience, and it was throwing him off-kilter now just like it had back when they were in the same quarters, Saark questioning Ste-Virn’s abilities and skills and throwing his natural talent in Ste-Virn’s face the whole time.

Well… he could talk about some of that.

“Do you remember those years, ago?”

Wryly, Byu-Kyonn elaborated, “You mean, when I found out my master was a… jerk, an’ lost m’arm, an’ you lost yer master in th’ same blow? Nah, I’ve no idea what yer talkin’ about.”

Ste-Virn let out a weak laugh. “Yeah. You remember the kid I was stuck with for those nine months, until my new master?”

“Do I ever,” Byu-Kyonn chuckled, voice sparking. “A little hlel, if I remember. Wouldn’t stop snipin’ at you, or you at him.”

“He did way more than I ever did to him!” Ste-Virn protested.

Across the galaxy, Byu-Kyonn sighed, static hissing in the deep breath. “Yer right. An’ b’fore y’ say what I know yer goin’ ta say next, you were both more’r less at th’ same skill level, even if he was ‘bout four years younger’n you. Still, bein’ four years younger means he ‘ad less practice an’ control over ‘is emotions than someone with that maturity. It woulda been—”

“I don’t want to revisit past hurts,” Ste-Virn said stiffly, feeling his shoulders grow tight as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

There was a long period of silence, to the point that Ste-Virn was opening his eyes to see if they had gotten disconnected, when Byu-Kyonn said quietly, “Ain’t that what yer doin’, now? Revisitin’ yer past, so y’can heal an’ move on? You wanna know what ya missed, back then. What y’ didn’t see in ‘im, an’ why he rubbed ya th’ wrong way. I know you, Steev, I know you too well t’think that y’brought this up fer no reason. Yer conflicted, an’ I’m sure yer crush th’ size of th’ galaxy ain’t helpin’—”

“ _What_?” Ste-Virn yelped, jerking upright and banging his head on the low overhang above his bunk. Hissing, he rubbed his head and glowered at his commlink. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, I know ya. Th’ only one who mightta known ya better is Megarann. Y’ never, like, made a move or anythin’, an’ with his speech an’ behavior, I know why, but that doesn’t change that ya found ‘im attractive. Still do. Y’ pout that he does activities with every other young Jedi Knight ’cept you, y’ know that, right?”

Ste-Virn… knew he complained, to his friends, that everyone had an Anotoni Saark story, that everyone had done something with Anotoni Saark. He didn’t realize it classified as _pouting_.

He wiggled down, compacting his broad and tall frame onto the narrow bunk, and stared up at the underside of the overhang—a storage compartment that normally would hold tools to fix the propulsion systems, but that was empty (he had looked when he had first entered his quarters).

Was it really pouting?

…It probably was.

“I was… not trying to let anyone know.”

“I know,” Byu-Kyonn laughed. “You triedta hide it. You couldn’t ever hide anythin’ from me, an’ ya know it. But I don’t think anyone else woulda noticed.”

“I hope not,” Ste-Virn sighed.

There was a long moment of silence, and then Byu-Kyonn grunted. “Is that all ya needed ta talk ta me about? Yer both gonna haveta get along. Yer both adults. You can figure this out.”

Ste-Virn nodded absently. “Thanks, B-Ky. I think—I think I just needed to hear that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ack, I'm sorry this took so long x.x;;

“We’re getting nowhere.”

Ste-Virn bit back his automatic, defensive retort. They were both on edge. They’d been trying to find any one of the traffickers, _any being_ that had been involved previously, but for the past two weeks nothing had happened. No one had shown their face.

Ste-Virn worried that the Rodians tipped the ring off, that they had lost the element of surprise and would never find them again, that they would have to do this all over again, they’d have to start the investigation from scratch.

Instead, he breathed in deeply and asked again, “Are you _sure_ nothing that you said to the Rodians tipped them off to our primary mission?”

“I know you think I mess everything up—” Saark began, hissing, shoulders tight and tense, and Ste-Virn had a brief vision of a much younger Saark, less controlled, more puffed up, hair ruffled like feathers and hands spread wide and eyes flashing, the room a mess, torn up from their fight. Ste-Virn would punch things, in his anger, and Saark would throw things. It was on that that Jedi Knight Kulsi walked in on, and stared in disappointment at the two young Padawans.

The thing was… the thing was, in these past two weeks, they had actually worked together well. As much as they could, of course—there were quite a few tense moments, and Saark _never stopped getting in trouble_.

He had no problem talking to _everyone_. His speech was clearly high-class, his behaviors and mannerisms eccentric and strange. He volunteered as a mechanic in the oddest positions, and made himself _memorable_.

Ste-Virn had been trained in subterfuge—he knew how to blend in with the populace, how _not_ to stand out. He didn’t want to stand out. If you stood out, you were remembered, and you couldn’t get a lot of information from beings who noticed you were listening in.

Saark seemed to ignore the danger to his person. Ste-Virn had accused him three times over that he was deliberately trying to make himself a target, and had in fact put a tracker on Saark’s clothes more than once. Saark had always handed them back to him when he’d come back from whatever errand or walk he’d gone on, and hadn’t commented, which Ste-Virn worried meant that Saark was indeed actively trying to make himself a target.

But Saark was mildly famous. Not well-known—no Jedi Knight was—but Saark did come from a fairly prominent family, and was currently the head of one of the largest technological companies. A silent head—Jedi gave up worldly attachments for the most part, so Saark was a silent partner. But Ste-Virn was always aware of Saark’s higher status—for all that it had been Ste-Virn who had stayed the longest time with his parents, they had been simple farmers and he only remembered them vaguely. Saark’s family had given him up when he was barely seven months old, but they sent care packages, and one of their good family friends was a Senator who was always around the Jedi temple and took a personal interest in Saark’s growth and learning. It had been something Ste-Virn had resented, something Ste-Virn had held against Saark while they were both young.

Now, it worried him. It wasn’t just that Saark was making himself a target—there were _many_ people who did not know the Saark heir was a Jedi, just that he was a rich, silent partner in a large conglomerate.

(Ste-Virn couldn’t deny his crush anymore to himself, though he sure hoped that Saark didn’t notice it. He was doing his best not to be overprotective and controlling already, because Saark seemed to be very upset if Ste-Virn implied in the least that he thought Saark couldn’t do anything.)

(Saark had become very careful on how to speak to Ste-Virn—Ste-Virn could see him trying, trying his best to reword what he was trying to say before it came out of his mouth. He was trying to bring up his concerns and suggestions in a way that wasn’t combative, and it was why Ste-Virn thought these past two weeks were some of the least aggressive, most positive days he had ever spent in Saark’s presence, and he’d lived with the man for nine months.)

Currently, Saark was pacing the small quarters they were renting while here in Ryloth, Ste-Virn sitting on the couch where he slept because it was long enough for his tall body.

Saark closed his eyes, breathing in, letting his breath out in a low, controlled moment.

Since Saark was trying to calm down, Ste-Virn tried to help. “I believe that they would have been suspicious of anything you said, because you were new. I know that you would not undo months of work, but I simply worry that they picked up on something that may not even be related to our overall mission. It might be the fact that you are a Saark, it might be because you speak with an upper-class merchant accent. All I heard was the end of your conversation, and all I could see was you, buried in machinery while those two stood over you.”

Ste-Virn could think back to that day, the day that he had gotten into the first real verbal fight with Saark since they had been assigned to work together, the first time he had made it clear that he didn’t believe Saark had changed from when they were children. When he had called Byu-Kyonn, and been made to really think about how he had behaved as a child instead of only focusing on Saark’s behavior.

When he’d been forced to confront his own feelings, and how those feelings were affecting his ability to be objective with Saark, when he’d been able to work before with many different types of people from all walks of life.

Saark cut a sharp look at him, eyes almost too-bright, seeing too much. Ste-Virn fought not to flinch, to meet Saark’s eyes head-on.

When he had interrupted Saark’s conversation with the Rodians, with _Orcantuur_ , who Ste-Virn had some very nasty suspicions about—all he had seen was those two staring at Saark’s ass. He’d heard Saark discussing the different types of fixes they could be doing to prevent the extra wear and tear that was happening on their engine. He’d heard them grunt about it being serviceable enough to get them where they needed to go, and their inability to pay for costly repairs—and then Saark blithely explain that they could go much farther and do much more for a few credits worth of prevention.

It was barely anything. It was Ste-Virn’s jealousy. He knew that now, realized it when he spoke with…

Spoke with Byu-Kyonn.

“I kept to my cover,” Saark said, voice tight, level, almost wire-thin. “I said nothing suspicious—”

“You probably didn’t, but they were primed to be suspicious anyway. And—I called a friend, while we were on the ship. Didn’t reveal anything, he knows the procedure when I call from that commlink, used nicknames that could be for anyone, and one that always could match my cover name, but… maybe that’s what put them off. It might… not have been you at all. I did not even think, because I had no reason to suspect, but if they were already suspicious my calling someone across the galaxy would have been the last branch for that krichi nest,” Ste-Virn said slowly, interrupting Saark.

Those golden brown eyes flashed, almost glowed, and Saark suddenly held himself entirely still. Ste-Virn wasn’t quite sure why, or what was happening, but he could feel something in the Force, something important.

Saark _was_ a prodigy, after all. Ste-Virn could even think that now with minimal jealousy, that the Force came so easily to Saark and Ste-Virn had taken years to master what Saark had grasped quickly.

“Did I ever tell you,” Saark said slowly, “why I was given to Jedi Knight Kulsi at the same time you were?”

“Well, not the same time,” Ste-Virn said, because quibbling about technicalities was the only way he could really respond to such a drastic, whiplash change of subject. What had brought this on? He couldn’t see a connection, but Saark was feeling his way through his words as if he was trying to choose the ones that _felt_ the best to be said at the moment.

“You had your master die, trying to save the life of your best friend—a friend who would lose his arm, and then choose to enter the Corps instead of remain as a Padawan. You needed stability,” Saark said, and while it was true, it wasn’t something Ste-Virn liked to hear laid out in cold, hard words and truths. But he had to trust that Saark was going somewhere with this, that there was a reason to this, so he held his tongue and waited.

Haltingly, Saark continued, “Jedi Kulsi would have been very good for you, because he did provide that stability. He was very level-headed. He and you were very much alike, in your black and white views. I… had too much of the grey within me. Too much mixed in with the white.”

Ste-Virn noticed that Saark’s fingers came up to tap against his lower abdomen, twitching in a pattern that looked like someone counting out a Fibonacci sequence, a dance of numbers against skin.

A calming technique, that Saark had only started using when Ste-Virn had finally been removed from Jedi Kulsi’s care and given to Jedi Knight S’m W’Lsinn.

“I killed my master,” Saark finally said.

Ste-Virn’s eyes jerked up from the pattern to look at Saark in horror.

But Saark’s eyes were far away, unseeing, almost hazy. A glow burned from within them—the Force, and Ste-Virn tried to process that but the words were anathema to hear. A Padawan, killing their master? It was—unthinkable. Untenable.

“My parents had been killed only months before. I knew that, in a distant way, primarily because the executor of their estate had stopped by to tell me I had controlling interest in a company I knew almost nothing about. I was twelve.”

Ste-Virn remembered. Saark was a delicate man, build wiry and lean, but short. As a sixteen-year-old Padawan sharing close quarters with someone who was twelve and who could outperform him any day, Ste-Virn had been unable to find the compassion a good Jedi would have towards others in Saark’s position.

“My master had been very strict, but also spoke to me on my level, not as if I was a child. He explained what attachments meant to a Jedi, and why they were frowned upon—but also that attachments were a part of life. He helped me navigate through the executor’s desires, my wider family’s desires, even the company officials’ desires. I decided to divest from war technology and focus on medical and agricultural technology, as there was higher demand and the less evil I could put out in the world, the better.”

Ste-Virn remembered that, vaguely, as a headline that had not painted Saark in a good light, but also had not bothered him overmuch. He had only recently lost his master, and was trying to keep Byu-Kyonn from falling into a depressive state. He was trying to keep himself together.

Saark’s eyes suddenly refocused, latching onto Ste-Virn’s gaze. “Then, two months later, when on a routine job to escort a diplomat from their planet to the Senate, the ship was sabotaged. No reason why. We thought perhaps it was an attack on the diplomat’s life, especially since all escape pods were malfunctioning and there was only one life support bay. It was not a very large bay, and the diplomat took priority. There was not much space left.” A hard swallow, but Saark’s eyes were cold and hard and very, very world-weary. “I suggested to my master that I could fit in with the diplomat. That I could fit in the narrow bay with the diplomat, and keep the diplomat safe.”

Pity, and empathy, welled in Ste-Virn as he remembered, long, long back, when he had looked at his bleeding best friend and then at his master who had been fighting Byu-Kyonn’s master, a Sith lord revealed. He had made the decision that day to take Byu-Kyonn to medical authorities, instead of staying and aiding his master.

He had walked away, and his master had been cut down.

“My master smiled. I will never forget that. He put a hand on my head and said, teasing, that I was very small for a Padawan, after all, and that we might be rescued soon in any case. I could tell he was lying.” Now, Saark’s breath caught, his voice roughened. “Well. I could tell he was lying about the rescue. He knew what his fate would be, and he placed me in the bay, and sealed it.”

Saark trailed off, and Ste-Virn waited, feeling his heartbeat in his ears, wondering. What brought this on? What in the Force prompted Saark to reveal something so… so traumatic, so devastating?

Roughly clearing his throat, Saark reached out, and unthinkingly, Ste-Virn reached as well to clasp forearms with him, to give him that connection.

“You went to Knight Kulsi for stability, because Knight Kulsi was well-known for his morals and fortitude. He knew what was right, and fought for it, and he knew what was wrong. I thought I had been sent to Knight Kulsi for him to judge me, based on those morals. But I realized later, as an adult, underneath my new master, that Knight Kulsi was not stability for me, but familiarity. He was a close friend of my previous master’s, and someone I knew well.

“He also had a grieving interim Padawan, one I had looked up to and admired before becoming a Padawan, and one that the Council thought needed someone to look after in the way you and Byu-Kyonn had looked after one another but could no longer do.”

That… made sense. Was a shock, and the Council must have gravely mistaken what Ste-Virn’s reaction to Saark and what Saark’s reaction to Ste-Virn would have been, but that made sense.

“I am asking, now, that you look after me.”

Ste-Virn blinked. “What—of course—”

Then Saark turned on his heel and exited their quarters.

It was shameful, how long it took Ste-Virn to puzzle through what Saark had been saying, what he had been implying. What Saark’s plan was.

What Saark’s _ridiculous, ludicrous, horrible_ plan was.

Then Ste-Virn was on his feet in a flash, dashing out of the quarters, onto the street, frantically looking around. Saark could not be suggesting this. He could not—

The trackers. Saark knew Ste-Virn had been putting trackers on him.

Ste-Virn dashed back up the stairs, fumbling with his datapad as he quickly keyed in the tracker’s code. It lit up, streets away, moving quickly and with purpose.

Saark was going to sneak aboard one of the ships they suspected were stopping over here before traveling elsewhere. They had suspicions but no hard proof, and whenever they tried to subtly ascertain the cargo, through outright trespassing to subtle nudges to people who would know, they were stonewalled or blocked. Someone was expecting them, someone knew they were here, but they knew that shipping lanes ran in particular paths for a reason. The traffickers wouldn’t deviate from this planet because this planet wouldn’t ask questions about a ship restocking food supplies well beyond the standard amount, wouldn’t notice if a few more of the poor and impoverished disappeared (and they _had_ been disappearing—that much Ste-Virn and Saark had been able to confirm), and wouldn’t care about anything unless the Republic made them care.

The one thing they had not tried to do—though Saark had tried to float this idea at the very beginning—was put one of them out as bait.

Ste-Virn had to stop Saark, somehow. He had to. He couldn’t just leave him out there.

…Saark was a Jedi Knight. A grown being. He knew his mind, and knew what he was getting into. He knew Ste-Virn had a way to track him. He trusted that Ste-Virn would be able to follow him and get the evidence that was needed in order to shut down this company, and stamp out much of the whole operation.

He trusted Ste-Virn to watch his back, by standing back and letting this happen.

It went against every core belief in Ste-Virn, went against everything he wanted to do, and he felt rage and frustration and fear bubbling up as he watched that blinking dot travel farther and farther away.

Saark could stow on one of the ships. Or he could be caught.

If caught, what would happen? Death, that would be the smartest, easiest way to deal with the problem. If they knew Saark was a Jedi, it might stay there hands momentarily but most likely not.

He had to trust that Saark would not get caught. That Saark had a true feeling from the Force, was guided more strongly by the invisible bonds of the universe than what Ste-Virn could feel and trust.

Fists clenched against his side, he stood in the center of the quarters, and for the first time allowed himself to think, _Anotoni. Anotoni, you trust me. And I believe that I trust you_.

* * *

Following the tracker had been a nightmare and a half. It had zipped from one planetary system to the next, had almost disappeared entirely. Ste-Virn had ended up calling Byu-Kyonn again, since Byu-Kyonn was excellent with technology and could remotely figure out how to keep the signal tethered to Ste-Virn’s datapad.

The whole time, Byu-Kyonn had complained and grumbled. “I ’spected a foolish plan from Saark,” he growled, as Ste-Virn’s datapad flickered through the remote connection. “But fer you ta go along with it? I didn’ think it was possible. You wouldn’ta let _me_ run headfirst inta danger.”

“I couldn’t _stop_ you from running headfirst into danger,” Ste-Virn replied, knowing his voice showed his stress and fear. The signal had frozen two days ago, and Ste-Virn, in the small ship he’d chartered to follow the signal around, had nearly had a panic attack.

“You kriffing _liar_ , I was always runnin’ after _you_ ,” Byu-Kyonn growled. “There’s some level o’ innerference in th’ signal. That’s all I can get. Y’ won’t be able to find him, specific’lly, down ta coordinates, but a general radius. Okay?”

“Okay, B-Ky. Thank you,” Ste-Virn breathed.

“Tell me you got th’ Council ta agree t’this plan.”

“Byu-Kyonn, _I_ didn’t even get to agree to this plan. Anotoni dumped his trauma on me, then ran out the door. And the last words he said… he was asking me to trust him.”

“Yer a damnfool agri-herder, that’s what you are,” Byu-Kyonn muttered. “See he’s Anotoni now, not Saark. Good ta hear yer gettin’ along an’ found a real connection, now that he might be dead’r somethin’.”

Ste-Virn fought the panic that was always bubbling, low and heavy, in the back of his mind. “Thank you, B-Ky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Byu-Kyonn sighed, and the commlink cut off as Ste-Virn’s datapad smoothed out and the fading signal pulsed, bright and clear, instead of flickering.

Byu-Kyonn had a point. The last update Ste-Virn had sent to the Council had been almost a week ago, and he was overdue for his regular check-in. He had pulled heavily on the discretionary budget they had been given in order to get this ship, and while he may not be a whiz at mechanics like Anotoni or Byu-Kyonn, he was a fair hand with them. Certainly didn’t crash as near many as Byu-Kyonn claimed.

Either way, he was trying to stay a decent distance back from the ship, so that they wouldn’t pick up on his small, unassuming (unarmed) spacecraft following in their wake. How this was actually going to get them hard proof that the company was using slave labor, and how he was going to extract Anotoni from the ship, was still a mystery, one he was trying to figure out.

The signal stayed put—the ship must have docked on the planet. Zhar, it seemed to be—one of the planets that had raised concerns about the company’s processes and legitimacy.

It should be safe for Ste-Virn to dock. He could touch down, see if he could get close… But what if the ship took off again? It had done this previously, stopping long enough for Ste-Virn to think that they were docking, only to scramble to catch up on their ion trail as they hopped away…

An incoming commlink call had him scrambling to pull it out of the scattered, messy cockpit—the result of many spent days in one place as he trailed after his target. Finally locating the comm, he clicked it on. “Hello?”

“Hello, Ste-Virn.”

Ste-Virn sat more firmly in the chair, shoulders raising up automatically. “Master W’Lsinn.”

“The Council informs me that you and Saark may have killed one another.”

Ste-Virn sure hoped they hadn’t. Or that he hadn’t, at any case. “No, Master. We’ve possibly had a real breakthrough in the case and we’ve been chasing it down—”

“Be sure to check-in soon, and send your reports. You have worried a lot of people. We had hoped that you two could work out your differences.” Master W’Lsinn’s face flickered, then steadied. “Where are you that transmissions are this weak?”

“Deep space,” Ste-Virn answered back automatically. “We’ve been tracking a shipment, and we’re just trying to get that undeniable proof in order to show to the planets that the company has been violating the good faith contracts they made here on the planet.”

Master W’Lsinn hummed a little to himself. “Very well. I know you’re hiding something, but you are also old enough to know the consequences of your actions and accept them. You are also old enough to know when to call in for help and when not to. A lecture won’t do me any good now.”

Despite his worry, Ste-Virn felt the corner of his mouth turn up. “But Master, you so do love giving lectures, and my job as your Padawan—even as your former Padawan—is but to give you an audience.”

Master W’Lsinn chuckled, and then the transmission ended. Ste-Virn firmed his resolve. He would dock, and he would try to investigate.

Docking was easy; he didn’t need to hide behind his cover here, or invent reasons as to why he was on planet. Zhar was peaceful and had a decent showing in the Republic; all he had to claim was that he was a Jedi stopping for a rest from his travels back to Coruscant and he was allowed passage.

The datapad could only tell him which city, and more specifically which district, Anotoni was in—it was damaged enough that even with increased proximity, it never stopped blurring around the quadrant.

A scrambler, then. Either that, or they had found the tracking device and had been using this to create a trap. Both were bad news, but a scrambler meant business as usual, so Ste-Virn was holding out hope that that was all it was.

The district where Anotoni’s signal broadcasted from was definitely on the poorer side. Many abandoned factories and junkyards dotted the landscape, and trash piled up in a composting yard on the edge of the quadrant. Ste-Virn kept to the shadows, blending in as best as he could when so obviously looking for something. If there was an auction house, it would probably be in an abandoned warehouse—that would have enough space, and be defensible enough to guard against authorities showing up. If there was simply a holding area until the trafficked beings were moved to the mines—far more likely, considering that owning a slave or even an indentured servant on this planet meant five years of imprisonment yourself and a loss of title and land—they could be anywhere.

Ste-Virn’s mind could only think of worse-case scenarios, could only imagine what might be happening to Anotoni right now. Could only think about what had happened to Byu-Kyonn, so long ago.

_“Your stubbornness can be determination—or a mire of emotion, waiting to bog you down,” Master W’Lsinn murmured as he sat, cross-legged, opposite Ste-Virn in a classic meditation pose. “Your thoughts when you get stuck on something will pick something and focus on it. Learn to acknowledge the focus, then remove yourself. Think over the whole, rather than the part.”_

Not very helpful, brain, Ste-Virn thought, fighting not to spiral further. He couldn’t stop picture Byu-Kyonn, wounded and bleeding out. Couldn’t stop imagining how he had given up his master for his friend. Byu-Kyonn had had such a deep hole to climb out of, and when he finally did and got to the top, he had abandoned Ste-Virn. No, that wasn’t fair. Byu-Kyonn did not feel like he could continue as a Jedi, not when his path had been so obviously tainted, even though all the Jedi Council agreed that he was not to blame for his master’s descent into the dark side.

…Why were all his thoughts focused on Byu-Kyonn? His friend was happy now—he’d just spoken with him a few hours ago when he was fixing Ste-Virn’s datapad and signal—

_“…found a real connection…”_

Was Ste-Virn a Jedi, or was he not?

Gritting his teeth, Ste-Virn tucked his datapad away and moved to the shadows. Once he was sure he was hidden from all but the most thorough of observers, he sank into his meditation pose, closing his eyes and blocking out the world from his physical senses.

The Force opened before him like a tentative bloom, tendrils spiraling towards him.

There was so much pain and suffering around, so many dark corners here. Anger and hatred and despair lingered like smudges on plasti-shield, but underneath it, there was one shining, bright, pure note.

 _Anotoni_.

Anotoni’s consciousness brushed against Ste-Virn’s own, deep-seated relief and gratitude within the surface emotions of happiness and welcome.

Below. Anotoni was below him, somewhere. An underground chamber, though how to reach it was a different matter. Sewers? There was dampness, and wetness, but it wasn’t a stench or a scent at all. Just… wet.

As if it was nearer to the canal.

Standing up, eyes still closed, Ste-Virn made his way through the shadows, letting the Force guide his movements. The canals, but he needed something more to narrow it down. No smell of leather or cloth, so not one of the textile factories. There were also a few junkyards, and a couple of other warehouses for steel machinery.

…No, no scent of steel. No stench, either, so the junkyard that was mainly trash was ruled out.

Opening his eyes, he moved towards his left, to the smaller junkyard, and vaulted the fence easily. No real security cameras—couldn’t feel that hum of electricity that always buzzed against his skin when he was looking for those devices—but there were some big, hulking animals that came up to his shoulder. Animals, however, were his specialty; it was quick work to reach for the beast’s simple minds and project calmness, and trustworthiness.

Then it was a matter of finding the most recent tracks, and identifying the manhole cover that led to a drain.

No security cameras out here, but there might be in there. He would have to be careful, and quiet.

Swallowing hard, he lifted the cover and began to descend the ladder, letting the Force gently move the lid so that it made no sound lifting or lowering again. He kept his eyes closed—it would be pitch-dark anyway; there had been no lights or illumination he could see when peering down—and instead focused on Anotoni’s energy. It was dim, certainly nowhere near the level or amount that Anotoni normally gave off.

He couldn’t focus on that now. Instead, he got to the end of the ladder and stood before the branching pathway before turning left and began to walk.

It took a while before he finally ran into security measures—two beings standing guard before a darker niche in the hallway, and illumination on the walls that indicated frequent usage. Ste-Virn considered for a long moment. He could sneak in, and keep from alerting anyone about his existence and that they were on to them.

Or, he could trust that Anotoni had gathered enough evidence, and prioritize rescuing whoever was in that hidden room.

In the end, that made the choice very clear. He reached into his robes for his lightsaber and burst forth.

* * *

Bruised, bloodied, and with one sprained ankle, Ste-Virn stood panting over the last of the guards. More reinforcements would be coming, he knew, but for right now, there was no one standing between him and the prisoners being kept in the back.

And there were many of them.

Almost all of them looked blissed out on spice, some of them practically catatonic. Others flinched as he walked closer, and he put out of his mind why that would happen. Human suffering wasn’t something he would ever become inured to, but he knew that focusing on that would not allow him to accurately and safely assess how to remove all these people from this area. Surely they weren’t carried down that tunnel—that would be exhausting. And at least half of these prisoners were clearly unable to walk under their own power. There had to be another entrance—

His eyes jerked back to the small form he had passed over as he was scanning and assessing the situation before him. That hair definitely looked like—

“Anotoni?” he whispered, limping over to curled up body.

On Anotoni were restraints—far more heavy-duty than any other restraints—and he, too, was wearing the blissed out expression of a spice user. He also had, around the shell of one of his pointed ears, a complicated metal contraption, almost like a sheathe for the outer ear.

“Anotoni!” he hissed, leaning down to shake the man’s shoulder.

Anotoni rolled onto his back, a languid smile on his face. “Ste-Virn,” he mumbled, eyes hazy. “Could feel y’comin’. Ev’ythin’s hazy.”

This was not the time or place for this, and Ste-Virn looked around with sharp eyes, trying to pinpoint exactly how—

“C’n y’ hear th’ waves? Say goodbye,” Anotoni whispered, and then he giggled. “Bye-bye.”

Waves. Near the canal. Ste-Virn stood up, firmly ignoring Anotoni’s pleading whine, and made his way to where he knew the canal was located. It looked like it was solid rock—until he managed to get right up against it, and hear the hum of electricity and machinery behind one section.

He might not be as skilled at the delicate parts of the Force, not as good at reading the signs of the universe, but blunt force? Brute strength?

That, he had in _spades_.

Closing his eyes, balancing as best he could without putting undue weight on his ankle, he placed his hands upright before him, elbows slightly bent, and curved his fingers as he reached through the Force. Did it swing out, or swing in, or slide in a direction? He felt as best he could to get a feel for it, and then he breathed in deep, exhaled hard.

And _pushed_.

With a low, long, agonized moan, the huge section of the wall was shoved to the side, crushed like a crumpled durasheet.

Ste-Virn staggered from the mental weight, and nearly fell to his knees—but there, a long winding tunnel, and the soft sound of water lapping against stone. There must be a boat there somewhere—and, if Ste-Virn remembered correctly, the canal fed into the larger lake that bordered the planet’s royal city.

He did not have a lot of time. Those that could walk, he urged up, gave them concrete goals and another prisoner to help pull to the boat. He moved back to Anotoni’s side, but by that time a slight young being was helping prop up Anotoni, and so Ste-Virn gritted his teeth and moved past the instinctive need to care for Anotoni to instead look after other, worse off beings.

The arduous process seemed like it took forever, and Ste-Virn was paranoid about reinforcements coming, but either the process was shorter than it seemed or help was further away than he believed, because finally he’d managed to get all the prisoners onto the boat—onto the deck of the boat, not the hold, where filthy chains and the stench seeped into the metal and cloth told him just how often and how long this boat had been in use for this purpose—and then took all the guards he could find (one or two were missing—they must have woken up and decided to cut their losses) and stuffed them in the hold before locking the grate and moving to the controls.

Anotoni—and the being that had helped him walk to the boat—were propped against the side of the boat, sitting on the deck, and Anotoni giggled again. “C’n you even _swim_ , brrh?”

“I think I can figure out how to pilot a boat, yes,” Ste-Virn grunted.

Anotoni continued mumbling to himself, and Ste-Virn tried not to worry about how badly he seemed to be reacting to the drugs. Unless they’d just given him a dose? Maybe his biology reacted differently to it?

No, he had to lock those thoughts down. It was hard enough trying to get the boat moving in the direction he wanted it to.

He just had to hope that everything was fine.

* * *

“A lead, hmm?”

Ste-Virn’s head popped up and he tried to straighten from his slumped over position. With a sigh, Jedi Knight Kulsi sat down next to Ste-Virn on the bench and stared forward.

Master Kulsi’s silences always felt so disapproving—Ste-Virn couldn’t stand it. “Master, we _did_ have a lead—”

“Anotoni is fine, by the way. A heavy dose of spice, coupled with many days of not eating. But that still begs the question—what evidence do you have that Indenaturing Mining is behind this? How did you resolve this case to a satisfactory closing?”

It took everything in Ste-Virn’s body not to bounce his leg nervously. He did his best to project confidence and calm rationality as he replied, “The boat had records, linked and watermarked with Indenaturing Mining communications. These records are detailed and go back for over three years. They describe in detail shipments of beings that meet certain requirements, up to and including body size and shape, species, and age—”

“How do you know these are not just records of contracted workers? How do you know that this was a slaving operation?”

“The hold, master. The hold of the ship shows years of wear and tear on the manacles, and the stench of the unwashed. The room shows constant usage and chains. Security cameras would reveal more of what happened in that room—”

Master Kulsi’s body language stayed neutral, he stayed facing forward, but he cut into Ste-Virn’s explanation in his deceptively soft, sharp voice, “Security footage can be erased. The evidence you bring before me is circumstantial at best. There are quite a few Senators from the planets around here who have invested and backed Indenaturing Mining and if we cannot give real, solid proof…” He trailed off, and finally turned to look at Ste-Virn with one eyebrow raised.

Ste-Virn groped for anything he could say. “Some of the guards can and have identified slavers from my previous information gathered, saying that they made regular shipments. And Anotoni! Anotoni’s testimony of what happened—”

“Is compromised, at best. At worse, it looks like he has a spice addiction. And just because some of the guards can identify slavers does not mean that the slavers actively gave them beings. It does not mean that any Indenaturing Mining high official knew about this. I need something more.”

Ste-Virn swallowed, hard, and then looked down at his feet. “I think I… jeopardized the mission, before we even reached Ryloth. I think I tipped our pilots off to the fact that there was something fishy about me, or Anotoni, or both of us. I don’t know. But we landed and we searched, long and hard, for any missing persons reports, any missing child of any missing family. We could not find anyone. None of the slavers who were supposed to be there were actually there. Then, Anotoni had… a vision, through the Force. Or a feeling. He asked me to trust him, and I did, and this was his plan.”

They sat in silence, Ste-Virn looking down, Kulsi’s face turned to him. Around them, in the royal militia’s headquarters, beings were rushing back and forth, filling out paperwork and processing the many guards, trying to offer sobering-up pills and treatments to the ones still too far out of it. The noise pressed around them, around Ste-Virn, and he didn’t know what to say.

Finally, Kulsi sighed, and placed a hand on Ste-Virn’s upper back. “You did well. I know it doesn’t seem like I’m saying it, but I believe you have. I just worry about what this will do in the long run, because without that evidence, we can do nothing except let this continue. I am glad that by pairing you two together, you have managed to resolve your differences and work together. After all, that seemed like an impossibility when I was your master. But Anotoni must have been willing to cross the white bridge.”

The words niggled something at the back of his mind, and he turned to look at Kulsi curiously. “Master Kulsi, Anotoni told me that he had asked to be added to my investigation. Then he told me that he had been as surprised as me that the Council paired us together. Which one is it?”

A wry smile curled the corner of Kulsi’s mouth. “He did request, yes. A month, two months ago, thereabout. We were not going to honor his request until we realized your cases were one-and-the-same. He thought we had denied his request—”

“You should not be yelling at Ste-Virn.”

Both of them looked up to see a very pale, very shaky and sweaty Anotoni Saark, weaving a little on his feet, but his eyes feverish and intent.

“I was not—” Master Kulsi began.

But Anotoni steamrolled right over his words. “He didn’t know about the plan, and just like I had a bad feeling on our plane with our pilots, I had a feeling about where our case needed to go next. I needed Ste-Virn to trust me—and he did. He followed me, and saved me and all these other people. So there’s no need to be upset at him. Master. Jedi Knight.”

Again, Master Kulsi opened his mouth as if to respond, but Anotoni quickly continued, “Also, I have this,” he said, reaching up to his ear and pulling off the mechanical contraption. “I used it to document everything that happened to me. I am sure I saw the head of Indenaturing Mining telling our captors to pick up very specific… request. For a being.”

Master Kulsi squinted at the machinery for a long moment before looking up at Anotoni. “You risked your life for the slimmest chance of return. You could have turned in a report, talked this out with your partner, but you always rush things, always jump right in. You have to realize that we Jedi are cooperative, not combative.”

“Yes, Master Kulsi,” Anotoni said contritely.

Even Master Kulsi seemed to realize that that was both the best he could expect from Anotoni, and that Anotoni was about to fall over. “Sit down,” he said tiredly. “Make sure you rest. He needs his detox pills; be sure he gets them, Ste-Virn.”

“Of course!” Ste-Virn said, but Master Kulsi was already standing and moving over to one desk that seemed marginally less busy than the others.

The two of them remained there, Anotoni standing and swaying, Ste-Virn sitting, before Ste-Virn snapped out of it and quickly patted the bench. “Sit down, you look like you’re about to fall over,” he said.

Anotoni grinned weakly. “I _feel_ like I’m about to fall over.” Gingerly, he moved to sit down next to Ste-Virn and then leaned his head back against the wall. “I’m sorry.”

Ste-Virn blinked. “For what?”

“I’m sorry, for making you choose between the mission and myself. I just knew, somehow, that the next shipment was leaving soon and I would be too late unless I left right then. It was manipulative of me to use my story to get your trust, but—”

Without thinking, Ste-Virn shifted, putting his hands over Anotoni’s, gently holding them still. “Saark. _Anotoni_. Yes, I worried, and I was stressed, but you were a literal captive. All I had to do was follow the tracker I had been putting on you anyway.”

Anotoni had stilled all movement, eyes open wide, staring at Ste-Virn in what appeared to be shock. “You called me—by my first name.”

“I’d like to think we… know each other, by now. That we are equals, after all,” Ste-Virn tried, awkwardly.

Anotoni blinked long and slow. “You never liked me. I was the know-it-all baby teen that bothered you nonstop. You weren’t happy that I was assigned to work the case with you—”

“You can’t tell me that you didn’t notice we were doing… better with one another, before you ran off on your own?” Ste-Virn pointed out.

“Yeah but… it’s necessary to be nice to your coworker, especially if you’re sharing quarters for the foreseeable future. You always thought I was arrogant and pushy and bossy and—”

Ste-Virn leaned forward and brushed his lips against Anotoni’s.

For a long moment, they did not move, and then Ste-Virn pulled back, feeling his neck and cheeks heat up with a flush.

Dazedly, Anotoni looked down at his hands. “I thought the spice wore off. Clearly, I’m still hallucinating.”

“I… like you, Anotoni. I have for a while. I always admired you, and when you were taken and there were times I couldn’t find you… I cannot promise you forever, but I can promise you for as long as I can. I would like to be in a relationship with you,” Ste-Virn said all in a rush, struggling to get the words out.

Anotoni had closed his eyes, but when Ste-Virn had stopped talking and there was nothing but silence for the space of a few heartbeats, he breathed out, long and slow. “You really meant that.”

“Every word,” Ste-Virn confirmed.

“You never—not once did I see any indication. You kept away from me while we were preparing for our Trials, you never tried to reconnect. Seven years, we were apart from one another. Forgive me if this seems—”

“Sudden?” Ste-Virn laughed self-deprecatingly. “You know that transmission I sent, that probably alerted the Rodians to our presence and purpose? I was calling my friend, Byu-Kyonn, and asking him about how you and I were like in the past, and he immediately replied that my crush was obvious to him, but it was good I didn’t… approach you, while we were still children.”

Ste-Virn was still holding Anotoni’s hands, and he began to rub his thumbs over the back of Anotoni’s hands, wishing they were somewhere a little more private for this talk, but… what about them, or their relationship, had ever done things in a logical order? “So, yes. I meant it, and I hid it from myself and I thought others, even though apparently I pouted over you.”

That startled a laugh out of Anotoni, which devolved into a giggling fit. When he started hiccupping, Ste-Virn sighed. “Let me go find those detox pills. We need to flush the spell all the way out.”

He was three steps away from the bench when Anotoni said, voice raised, “I knew you’d come. You saved me, when I was unable to save myself.”

At that, Ste-Virn turned around with a large smile. “Are you kidding? You reached out to me through the Force, and led me to the hideout. You helped your own rescue. You’re seriously amazing.”

Interestingly enough, when complimented, Anotoni’s cheeks went a deep brown.

* * *

“So the moral is, the Jedi Council is a meddling matchmaker committee,” Rhodey (whose real name was Rhdernerssdurndt, so everyone just called him Rhodey) mutter-growled, his powerful form looming over many students as the five of them walked together to the cafeteria.

“It sure does look like it,” Byu-Kyonn sighed. “Have you ever seen anything so disgustingly cute?”

“Kriff off, Byu-Kyonn,” Anotoni yawned, keeping his fingers entwined with Ste-Virn’s regardless of the dirty looks of the elder Jedi walking past them, or the curious or, alternatively, revolted looks the younglings and Padawans gave them. “If I want to show affection, I will.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Ste-Virn?” N’t’lly asked, interrupting what Byu-Kyonn was going to say next.

Ste-Virn, who had been simply reveling in holding hands together to get lunch, started out of his reverie. “I’m sorry? What?”

“Forget it,” N’t’lly sighed.

Anotoni grinned smugly and tightened his grip on Ste-Virn’s hand.

And Ste-Virn? Ste-Virn held on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> Ste-Virn R'Grr = Steve Rogers  
> Anotoni Saark = Anthony (Tony) Stark  
> Filliph Kulsi = Phillip Coulson  
> Byu-Kyonn = Bucky Barnes  
> S'm W'Lsinn = Sam Wilson  
> N't'lly = Natalia (Romanoff)
> 
> Mace Windu = Fury


End file.
